


it’s our (little secret)

by sixhours



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dialogue Heavy, M/M, Not Beta Read, Slurs, Underage - Freeform, Victim Blaming, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, im crazy like that, literally just fag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29044413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixhours/pseuds/sixhours
Summary: It’s ‘cause he knows, doesn’t even have to ask if Tommy’s parents are home. It makes Tommy hold a strangled whine back as he gets up without hesitation. When he comes back, he sees Wilbur. He doesn’t look different, like Tommy would picture the creeps that got painted into his head from school or parental warnings. He looks safe.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/TommyInnit
Comments: 3
Kudos: 174





	it’s our (little secret)

**Author's Note:**

> do not show them (or their friends) this through dms, donos, replies etc. ever. don’t send this to anyone who isn’t comfortable with this sort of content.
> 
> just don’t be an asshole.
> 
> i left both fandom and character tags out—the only way to come across this is through the relationship tag.

For a whole minute, there’s silence. Tommy doesn’t even bother to breathe. He watches Wilbur’s profile picture glow green, though, as he shuffles and sighs and waits. He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood.

“What,” was all Wilbur had said, which somehow made things worse.

Tommy has a strange urge to turn his camera on—sure, he’s fucked it, and he feels sick to his stomach, but he needs to _know._ Needs to see Wilbur drool. He feels tears of embarrassment prickle at his eyes and he turns away instead. His room is as boring as ever, as he assumed. He tries not to think of anything else he’s done in here.

“Are you still there?” There’s something different about Wilbur’s tone. “Lock your door.”

It’s ‘cause he knows, doesn’t even have to ask if Tommy’s parents are home. It makes Tommy hold a strangled whine back as he gets up without hesitation. When he comes back, he sees Wilbur. He doesn’t look different, like Tommy would picture the creeps that got painted into his head from school or parental warnings. He looks safe.

He leans into the mic, “Have you ever fingered yourself, Tommy?”

 _Holy shit,_ Tommy thinks. He didn’t think he’d get this far and now his heart is beating even harder in his chest, breath stopping. He thought Wil would’ve hung up, would’ve shouted at him through DMs the second Tommy had mentioned the fact that he’d never been able to come through masturbation before.

Wilbur had _growled._

Tommy shakes his head until he remembers Wilbur can’t see him, and decides to type it to Wil instead, because he just can’t trust his voice in a situation like this. He’s so scared of fucking it up his hands shake as he moves.

_No._

It’s weird, he thinks. How Wilbur can make him shrink in his gaming chair and shut up for once. How nobody else effects him like this. Tommy didn’t even notice the hand crawling down to his own boxers until he speaks up again. 

“Turn your camera on.” And, well, Tommy can’t say no to that, can he?

Tommy still hasn’t said a word since he’d asked how to get off. All he can do is gawk at himself—the half pulled up shirt exposing his bare stomach and blushing chest, the thin happy trail growing from his belly button down, until it’s out of sight. His lips, bitten and puffed out, pink and half open like a silent sigh. There’s only one word on Tommy’s mind, though neither of them say it. Fucking _jailbait._

“Fuck,” Wilbur groans, and Tommy doesn’t have to look to the other camera to know what he’s doing. His ears burn and he gets a sudden, comfortable _buzz_ at the thought of being wanted. Being _sexy._ “You make this so, _so_ hard, you know that? You’re practically begging for it, the fuck am I _supposed_ to do? And the slutty audacity you have to not say a word. You’re something else, Tommy.”

It finally gets him to groan, to push his jeans off fully and whisper, soft and desperate.

“What was that?”

“Wil,” he ignores the obvious tears, the overwhelming amount of emotions he’s trying to express, forcing himself to be quiet. “Wilbur, please.”

“Put your hand up—yeah, that’s it—I want you to put your fingers in your mouth, you brat. I want you to shut up.”

And Tommy does, without even thinking. He doesn’t really know _why_ Wil wants it, but he tries his best, and sucks the two fingers shoved in his mouth as if they were dicks. Something about it makes him moan, shut his eyes. He tries to think of them as Wilbur’s. He pants around them, open mouthed and fucked-out.

“You ready, Tommy? You know, at first I was gonna tell you how _I_ get off, squeeze the base, rub the head, all that. But I realised how much of a whore you are, and I knew that just wouldn’t be enough for you,” he groans, and Tommy can hear the distinct wet sounds of him rubbing himself. The camera is too high up for him to see. “I think you’re ready to take them.”

Tommy can’t help the white-hot excitement that runs through him, the slutty moans he lets out as he teases his hole. It’s funny, the way Wilbur already knew he wouldn’t have any lube. He licks his lips at that, pushes a finger in, shallow and slow.

“Ow,” he says. It doesn’t feel good. “Ow, Wil—W—it _hurts._ ”

“Well, of course it does,” Tommy groans, pushing in further, trying not to disappoint. “It always hurts at first. But I need you to be prepared for my dick, sweetheart. Alright? It’s way bigger than your fingers.”

So Tommy pushes, searching for the spot. He imagines Wilbur beside him, coaxing him through the pain, pressing kisses to his neck with a bite or two.

“Wilbur,” he pants, before he’s even hit it properly, but he knows he’s getting closer. “Need you. Need you in me, please, _please._ ”

“Don’t come,” Wil warns, sharp and threatening. It makes Tommy shiver at what might happen if he disobeyed. “Don’t come unless I let you.”

Tommy wants to respond, he really does, but his shirt managed to bunch up above his stomach, and he holds it, wet and soft, in his mouth to muffle any more sounds.

Wilbur is definitely close too, he can tell by the lower groans and erratic pacing. It suddenly hits him that he’s going to come for the first time, and it’ll be _untouched,_ because of Wil. The thought alone is enough to make him see the spurts of pre-come.

“Don”t.” He warns, but Tommy only pumps his fingers in faster, longing for Wilbur to be there, to fill him up with come, to pull out when he gets too close, to hit his—

“You fucking _fag,_ ” is all Wilbur has to say when Tommy hits his prostate, and he can’t even see, or move, or think. White paints his stomach and he whimpers out repeatedly, pulling himself through it, still on a high even as his legs shake and Wilbur tuts through his headphones.

“I’m sorry,” he groans, but he knows he’s not. He sees Wilbur scoff and leave the call.

Quickly, Tommy pulls forward to type, his hands shaking like last time but not for the same reason as before.

_I’m sorry._  
_I’m sorry, Wil. I didn’t mean to._  
_How can I make it up to you?_

He thinks he’s seriously fucked it until a notification pops up on his screen.

_When can we meet up again?_


End file.
